Only two hours later, Mike was asleep at home when the phone rang. He pulled himself out of bed and dragged his tired body into the living room. Light filtered through curtains, which made it possible for him to find the phone on the coffee table but not before he narrowly avoided falling over a box of clothes.
“Good morning,” Francie said. “Will you please drive me to church this morning? Wake your brother up and bring him, too.”
Mike glanced at his watch through eyes still blurry with sleep. He groaned. “I’ve only been asleep for an hour. Why don’t you let me sleep a few more?”
“Because church will be over by then. You can take a long nap when you get home. Or you can sleep through the sermon.”
“Reverend Miller won’t like that.”
“But God will be glad you’re there. Besides, you said you’d take me wherever I need to go.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be taking it easy?”
“The doctor said church is fine as long as I don’t drive.”
“What about Brandon?” Could he think of any more reasons to go back to bed? If this one didn’t work, he’d have to go, because he could never tell Francie no.
“He’s at a training session in Dallas,” she explained patiently. “Well?”
“Okay, I’ll pick you up at ten.”
“Thanks. Bring Tim.”
Driving her to church was the least he could do. When he was eighteen, he’d held up a convenience store. He groaned, hating to relive that act and its consequences. To save him, so he could be a doctor, Francie had confessed and was serving time before he could take the blame himself. They were the same height and he’d worn a ski mask and jacket so she looked like the person in the surveillance tape.
He’d made a terrible, stupid mistake, and she’d paid for it. He still struggled to figure out why he’d done it—heredity, Francie would say—and to make it up to her somehow.
Yes, he owed her everything. He could never turn her down.
After a shower, he shook Tim awake. “We’re going to church.”
Tim threw back the sheet. “Terrific,” Tim said as he sat up on the bed, dropped to the floor and stood to stretch. “I’ve missed church.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Mike never knew what his brother was thinking. Of course, Tim never talked about stuff that was important to him. They were a lot alike that way.
“I like sleeping in, too.”
At ten forty-five, the cousins were seated together in the sanctuary. Bowing his head, Mike hoped to be filled with the peace this time of silent meditation used to bring him, but it still eluded him. Maybe he was out of practice. Maybe he’d missed too many services. Whatever the reason, the Spirit didn’t fill him. He had a feeling it wasn’t the Spirit’s fault.
He prayed for his family and patients. He knew those requests had been heard, but when he prayed for guidance for himself he felt cold and alone.
Where was God when he needed him so much?
After church, Mike pulled the car into the drive of Francie’s house and stopped.
“Why don’t you come in?” Francie said as Tim got out of the backseat. “You can make some sandwiches and bring me one.” She took Tim’s extended hand to get out of the car. Once standing, she went around to the driver’s side, opened the door, grabbed Mike’s arm and pulled him toward the house.
Once inside, she yawned and said, “I’m going to bed. Would you fix us lunch?” She’d taken a few steps down the hall when she turned to say to Mike, “Before you do that, come with me to look at the baby’s room. Brandon painted it last week, and I added a few touches.”
Mike followed her down the hall and stopped to look into the bright yellow nursery. On the walls, Francie had hung pictures of whimsical animals in both brilliant and pastel hues. His mother would love this, would want to add a few fanciful ideas of her own.
For a minute, Mike was overwhelmed by the memory of how he and Cynthia had planned to have three children. Their babies could have had a room like this. Well, knowing Cynthia, she wouldn’t have liked purple dragons or turquoise birds, but they would have had a nursery. When he noticed Francie studying him, he said, “It’s great.”
“Hey, Mike, how do you turn on a gas stove?” Tim called.
“Don’t do a thing. I’ll be right there.” Mike pulled himself from his reverie to hustle to the kitchen. If he allowed Tim to light the stove, he might have to explain to Brandon where he’d been when Tim blew up the house.
After he took a tray back to Francie, Mike settled in Brandon’s chair in the living room. In no time, he was asleep.
“Hey, Fuller.” Dr. Ramírez caught him in the hall outside the E.R. the next evening. “Sorry if I intruded yesterday. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy, but…” She bit her lip. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” It was hard to hold a grudge against her. Mike figured she’d be angry if he told her she was so attractive any man would forgive her for anything. And that lip-biting part was distracting. Very distracting.
When Mike moved back toward Trauma 3, he saw Mitchelson watching Dr. Ramírez as she walked away.
“How’d the cup of coffee go?” the nurse asked with a grin. “Was that all? Just a cup of coffee?”
“Just a cup of coffee. She wanted to talk about my work as an orderly.”
“Did she tell you that you should be a doctor or nurse?”
Mike glared at Mitchelson. “How did you know she said that?”
“Because we all think so. Can’t figure out why you’re not in med school, but we’re glad we got you in the E.R. and hope you won’t leave anytime soon.” When his beeper went off, Mitchelson hurried away before Mike could say a word.
“Thank you,” he shouted down the hall. Mitchelson waved back.
“Fuller,” Dr. Ramírez called in her doctor voice. “Transfer, please.”
Back to normal. No more compliments, only a lot of lifting and hard work.
Three days later his mother’s bus arrived at 10:00 a.m. which gave Mike plenty of time to clean up after his shift and drive to the bus station.
Before she went to prison, Mom had looked like her paintings: full of life and sparkle, happiness shining from her. She’d changed during those years. Hard to remain vibrant in prison, she’d explained on his frequent visits, as if he couldn’t guess that.
He waited on the platform, surrounded by the noise and the strong fumes from diesel engines.
When she got off the bus, he hugged her, noticing she was thinner than he’d remembered.
She pulled away to study him and put her hand on his cheek. “It’s so good, so absolutely marvelous to be here,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I’m out of prison and back with my boys.”
“I’m glad, too, Mom.”
She still had an innocent face, which had helped her market her forgeries but hadn’t fooled the judge. Now her skin bore lines and wrinkles, but the beauty remained.
After she pointed out her one shabby suitcase, Mike handed the baggage claim to the bus driver and carried it to the car.
“I’m so tired of wearing trousers.” His mother smoothed her jeans. “Boring, boring, boring, my dear, and not at all feminine.” She glared at her white shirt. “Do you still have my dresses?”
“Yes, Francie stored everything while you were gone.” Mike started the car and backed out of the parking place. “But it’s been eight years. They’re probably out of style.”
“Good clothing never goes out of style.”
He grinned as her sudden air of certainty and confidence. Yes, it was great to have her home.
After he stopped at several lights, she said, “My, my, the traffic is even worse than before.” She chattered on about how things had changed in Austin while he drove.
When he pulled up in front of the small house, she said, “What’s this? We aren’t living here, are we?”
“I know it’s not very big, but it’s what I can afford.”
The shrubbery needed to be trimmed, but the house appeared neat enough on the outside. With white paint that flaked only in a few areas, black shutters, and a porch the size of a postage stamp, it had a homey aspect. But it was small, a fact even more evident when his mother opened the front door and stepped inside.
